


A Stolen Moment

by CarolinaNadeau



Series: The Music Man: The Happily-Ever-After [21]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Confessions, Desk Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluff with depth, Intimacy, Library Sex, Library Shenanigans, Marian in lingerie, Parenthood, Passion vs Propriety, Pillow Talk, Sexual Politics, inspired by prompt, smexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolinaNadeau/pseuds/CarolinaNadeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the birth of their child, Harold and Marian are finding far fewer opportunities to be alone together than before, so Marian is determined to enjoy this particular moment to the fullest – even if they do happen to be in the library…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Stolen Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to write some of my most risqué fics during snowstorms. Kind of weird.
> 
> This was written for a challenge/prompt that I happened across online ;)

Madison Public Library closed early on Saturdays.

Before she'd been married, Marian Paroo Hill had used those extra evening hours to teach a couple extra piano lessons or maybe make sure that the stacks were properly organized, but these days, she was grateful for the chance to return home to her husband and infant daughter. As much as she loved her work at the library, nothing could make her happier than to converse with Harold or simply relax in his reassuring embrace, or to watch little Charlotte's large brown eyes light up as she caught sight of her, to watch her reach out for everything that interested her with tiny, curious hands. Marian no longer felt the need to linger in the library any longer than was strictly necessary, not when she had such wonderful things to go home to.

Not on this particular Saturday, though – today, the librarian wasn't going home until long after the last patron had left the building. As dreary as the prospect sounded, today the library was getting its much-needed spring cleaning.

In the days when the library had been all that she had in the world to really care about, she had frequently set aside time to keep everything neat, clean and organized. Not only did excess dust make the library into the sort of place where visitors might feel less inclined to linger, but Marian was also of the opinion that dusty shelves sent the wrong sort of message, that books were old and musty things that were best left untouched. But now, the library was as close to being truly dusty as it had been in years – she realized in horror that, due to the physical limitations caused by late pregnancy and childbirth, as well as the taxing demands of new motherhood, she'd not taken the time to clean her beloved library in over six months.

When she'd expressed how overwhelmed she'd felt by the prospect of scrubbing every last corner of the library, Harold had freely offered to help her – something that she wouldn't have dreamed of asking him, especially knowing that he might prefer to use his time to prepare for band rehearsals, or at least to relax after them. The librarian wondered, with a vague sense of irritation, if he still thought that she was too delicate to manage this task without hurting herself, though she had long ago recovered from the damages that childbirth had caused to her body. Still, she wasn't going to turn down such much-needed assistance just because she stubbornly wanted to prove that she could do it herself!

It was a sunny, late-April day that they at last got around to the imposing task. Somehow, the whole process had taken just over two hours, which seemed surprisingly quick – whether it was because twice as many hands had made light work or because they had worked a little more carelessly knowing that they had so much ground to cover, Marian wasn't certain, but what mattered to her was that she could walk up and down the aisles and run her fingers along the shelves without seeing a trace of dust. Considering that the library had been left undusted for six months, she considered this a tremendous relief, even if they might have cut a few corners here and there. For now, it was a marvelous improvement.

Keeping all of the windows open had, thankfully, minimized the unpleasantness of stirring up dust and helped clear the room of the strong smell of furniture polish. She'd kept the sleeves of her blouse rolled up the whole time, she'd stopped to wash up in the lavatory several times (and enforced these same conditions upon Harold) and, as a result of her fastidiousness, had managed to avoid the disagreeable consequences, such as headaches and sneezing, that could have easily come along with such an ambitious cleaning job. However, she was still quite grateful for the bursts of fresh spring air that she was able to breathe in as she went around closing each newly-cleaned window.

While Harold was still washing his hands, Marian returned to her desk to make sure that everything was absolutely in order before she left for the evening. Certainly she had already checked back when the library had closed to the public, but she second-guessed her thoroughness now that so much time had passed, and the last thing she wanted was to come in tomorrow and find that she'd overlooked something when she'd had such ample opportunity to set it right.

She had just finished checking that her ink was covered and put away when she felt Harold walk up behind her and covered her hands with his own. Without saying a word, he slipped his hands up her bare forearms and then all the way up to her shoulders, spinning her around to face him. Then he pulled her in for a kiss that was long and slow and sweet, and afterwards he gazed adoringly into her eyes and traced the shape of her jawline with his thumb before planting another little kiss right at the tip of her nose.

Though she tried to remain nonchalant, Marian found herself blushing and smiling irrepressibly at this unexpected display of affection. "What was that for?"

"Can't a man kiss his wife without having any particular reason?" He demonstrated by pressing another soft kiss to her temple and then one right atop her golden hair.

She let out a light, self-deprecating laugh as she turned to neaten the pencils at her desk. "Well, I don't look all that kissable right now," she remarked, recalling how disheveled she'd looked in the washroom mirror even _before_ she'd splashed water on her face to freshen up, which had made her feel better but look quite unkempt.

"Marian, that is absurd," Harold scolded teasingly, fingers slipping around her waist. "You have never looked anything but kissable to me."

As the music professor proved the truth of his statement by trailing his lips along her neck, she giggled and gasped, feeling flattered and a little overwhelmed. She had grown more than used to the fact that Harold considered her some sort of incomparable beauty, but ever since she'd had the baby she enjoyed these remarks with a bit more vanity than could be considered proper. "Sometimes, I forget the way that you see me…"

He turned her to him and cupped her face in his hands, his gaze ardent and sincere. "I don't see anything that isn't entirely true, my love. I think you simply forget how gorgeous you are."

At first Harold only pressed a chaste, gentle kiss against her lips, but as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed closer in return, the kiss grew longer and deeper. Marian let out a happy little sigh as they parted and pulled him right back to her, and soon they were kissing again and again, the kind of sweet, leisurely kisses that had become such a rare luxury after the delightful-but-exhausting life changes brought on by parenthood.

She was aware that she should have been tired even now from all the work that they'd been doing, but the rush of energy that she felt from his strong, warm body pressing against hers and the familiar delight of breathing in the scent of him was enough to make her forget all of the dusting and polishing they'd been doing over the past few hours. However, she realized that she couldn't fully lose herself in his embrace until they'd settled one little matter.

"Harold," she whispered softly when he released her lips.

"Marian," he responded before she could continue, leaning in so he could capture her mouth with his own once again, but she giggled and turned so his lips landed on her cheek instead.

"No, I wasn't just – I was trying to say something," she said, laughing. "It's just that, well, to be on the safe side, we ought to lock the door. Not that anybody's been here for hours, but we wouldn't want them to walk in on us – kissing."

Harold wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. "I'll have you know that I already did lock the door, actually. I took care of that detail while you were washing your hands."

A little gasp of laughter escaped her, and she stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief – although she really had no trouble at all believing this. "What, you just expected that we'd be canoodling after we finished working?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't going to rule it out."

"I'd call you arrogant if you weren't completely right." She lightly ran her fingers along the back of his neck, playing in the soft fringe of hair there and making him sigh in contentment. "I was hoping to take advantage of our time alone together, as well," she confessed, and though she felt herself blush slightly, she gazed up at him with the honest, trusting openness that indicated that she was more than ready for him to kiss her again; Harold was clearly happy to oblige her.

Marian settled happily into his embrace, returning each one of his kisses with equal fervor and parting her lips willingly beneath his. Nowadays, these opportunities to be truly alone and indulge in all of the kisses that they wanted were nearly as rare and precious as they'd been when they were courting. Though they now slept in the same bed together every night, more often than not they dropped off to sleep within minutes, given that the baby tended to wake them up and _keep_ them up at all hours of the night. They could go days without sharing any more than the lightest of kisses, and had come to accept that this would be the way of things for a good while; even though what they were doing now certainly could not lead them to anything more intimate, the librarian was pleased with this reminder that their passion was alive and well, even if they couldn't act upon it so often.

If they had been tired right now, perhaps they _would_ have been entirely satisfied with this light canoodling, but soon enough the all-too-familiar desire for more was blooming within them both. It developed naturally, as it always had – they never could manage to skim the waters of passion without realizing how badly they wanted to dive in. Their kisses became harder, more urgent; he teased her ear with his tongue, tugged her high collar down to press love-bites against her neck, while she slid her hands inside his suit coat and glided her open palms down his chest.

Before long, Harold's hands gently traced the outline of her breasts, and, while that was undeniably enjoyable, Marian was relieved when he slid his hands back to her waist instead of attempting further explorations – they'd learned the hard way that he really couldn't caress her there properly as long as she was still nursing. But clearly he was intent on fondling her somewhere, because his hands almost immediately found the curve of her backside, and, as he pressed her tightly against him, she broke their kiss to gasp a little as she felt his erection press against her thigh.

Not that she was _surprised_ , exactly, at least, not surprised that he was aroused and letting her know it – this wasn't exactly the first time that they'd canoodled to this extent in the library in well over a year of marriage – but she was a little shocked by the immediate intensity of the desire that swept over her at this knowledge. All she could think of right now was how fiercely she craved to do so much more than just canoodle with him, and she was already attempting to calculate how quickly they could possibly get home without appearing suspicious to any passers-by. Yet she couldn't bring herself to stop kissing and touching him long enough to propose this course of action, not when she was feeling as if she couldn't, would never, get enough of him. Instead, she clung to him and continued moving her hips against his in a desperate pantomime of lovemaking, although she knew very well that this would not satisfy their desires.

Somehow finding the strength that she currently lacked, Harold broke away from her at last after several minutes of this sweet torment, taking a few steps to try and create the distance that they would need if they were ever going to disentangle themselves. The librarian thought that she might sway back onto her desk, so shaky were her legs, and she hoped she didn't look too noticeably graceless as she steadied herself with a hand behind her.

The very sight of her beloved professor was enough to make her knees weaken again and her search for balance hopeless. Harold's rich brown locks were hopelessly tousled in that way she found so irresistible – fortunate for him that a hat would hide them! – and his unsmiling, intense expression revealed the urgency of his own desire. His voice was rough and thick with longing as he spoke the words that she so wanted to hear: "Oh, Marian, I'm going to take you home right now and – "

But he never finished his declaration. They realized it at the same time, and as her heart sank she saw his expression go crestfallen as well – "home" was where Mrs. Paroo was watching Charlotte, specifically so _they_ could be _here_ , working on the library's spring cleaning. They weren't free to go home and tumble into bed together, not by any means, and all of this buildup was going to lead to nothing more than frustration.

Taking a few steps back, Harold swore softly and raked his fingers through his hair, and the librarian was so disappointed that she couldn't even fault him for his shocking language. Not knowing what else to do, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of very cold things to see if that would somehow dispel the uncomfortable heat that swelled in several delicate body parts. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

"Well, tonight, I guess," the music professor relented at last, with about as much enthusiasm as a boy told in the summer that he might get what he's asked for if he waits until Christmastime.

Marian sighed heavily, walking over to the table where she'd left her purse so she wouldn't have to face him, wouldn't risk making him think that she was resentful of _him_ instead of the circumstances. "Right. We have tonight."

Tonight. After Mama went home, after dinner, after – no, _if_ – Charlotte fell asleep. And if tonight didn't work out, well, maybe they could find the time and the energy sometime this week. Or maybe the right moment would never come and they'd have no choice but to let the matter drop. The thought of waiting so long for an opportunity to finish what they'd started was very near infuriating, especially considering how wonderfully different this had been from anything that they'd shared in a long while. Ever since they'd been allowed to make love again a few months after she'd given birth, their every tryst had been meticulously planned, and here they had been _so_ close to something spontaneous and exciting again, only to realize that it wouldn't work out when it was already far too late to quell their passion. If only –

_If only –_

The realization dawned over her slowly, made her heart surge with apprehension and excitement. There was no "if only" about it – what she wanted was completely possible, although it was outside her experience, and it wasn't as though she hadn't longed for it many times before, even if she'd been unable to imagine how it would actually happen. All she had to do was say one thing, make one little offer…

Marian turned toward her husband slowly, her hands clenched into fists to prevent her from losing her nerve, and made her decision.

"Harold. We could – stay," she whispered, her voice rising with uncertainty but also with the thrill of possibility.

As she expected, he spent the first few moments in utter shock – Marian figured that he was searching for some meaning in her words other than the obvious, lest he jump to conclusions and offend her. He blinked, stepped back, leaned one hand on the desk as he tried to comprehend. "Darling?"

"I mean," she responded, trying her best to keep her voice level, "We don't _have_ to wait until tonight." Just to make completely sure that her meaning was clear, she brought her hands to his bowtie and gently tugged it loose, allowing the loose ends to dangle down onto his chest.

Desire was written plainly over his handsome face, yet Harold was clearly fighting to keep himself in control, running through every logical precaution that he knew. "You're all right with that? You'd make love here? Where you work?" The fragmented questions tumbled out of his mouth one after the other, as if he couldn't give voice to all of her potential objections fast enough.

"Well, we lived out your little office fantasy, didn't we?" the librarian retorted, smirking at that _very_ pleasant memory.

"Yes, but the music emporium doesn't belong to the city." He looked as if he already knew that this argument was unconvincing, and she thought she detected a hint of hope in his expression when she remained unrattled by his words.

"A technicality," she assured him. "We are most assuredly alone here, just as we were in your office, just as we usually are at home. Why, you've always said that you intend to make love to me in the meadow sometime, and, no matter how out-of-the-way that particular meadow is, there's still more of a chance of being discovered when making love outside as opposed to within a locked building!"

Harold nodded, placing his hands on her shoulders – Marian wasn't sure if he was trying to steady her or himself. "I'm not saying that it'd be wrong, but I want to make sure you've thought of everything before you make a decision – I just don't want you to feel guilty about anything we do."

As unnecessary as it may have been in this particular situation, Marian had to admire his chivalrous attempt at rationality even in the midst of his arousal – it was touching to be reminded that he would not allow his lust to overwhelm his need to ensure that she was absolutely comfortable. But she shook her head emphatically, not wanting him to worry for a moment that she would come to regret this afterward.

"I've _already_ made my decision... I wouldn't have even suggested the idea if I hadn't. Because I know that if we wait until tonight, or whenever else we have the chance again, it won't be the same. It won't be like _this_ , and it's been too long since it's been like this." Her voice trembled a little as she spoke, but she wasn't nervous about what she was suggesting they do – it was just that speaking so frankly about her desires still flustered her, and she wasn't sure if she even possessed the words to explain herself properly. It had barely taken a month of marriage before she'd realized that she enjoyed playing the role of sultry seductress now and then, but she'd never really gotten used to talking about desire in plain, logical terms.

"You know I don't take these things lightly," she continued, stepping closer to him just so she could take his hands and touch him in some way. "It's not as though this is the first time that I've thought of this, Harold. I _always_ wanted this to happen someday – I want this to happen now."

He gazed at her with bare, undisguised longing, all of his defenses gone in the face of her calm certainty. "So do I," Harold groaned, and then his mouth was crashing over hers again, both of them overcome by the immensity of their combined passion.

Now that there was no question about where this tryst was leading them, the heat between them grew exponentially with every touch, minds and bodies utterly relieved to abandon restraint. If there had been a bed or other comfortable surface available to them, they would have tumbled right onto it, but, in the absence of such niceties, they found themselves staggering back toward the desk, mouths and hands roaming avidly over every inch of each other's bodies that they could reach.

As she'd already removed his bowtie, Marian decided to continue in that bold vein by tugging off his suit coat and then unbuttoning his shirt. This was something that she'd grown skilled at by now, and it didn't take long before she had the smooth, warm skin of his chest revealed to her. The gentle little patterns that she traced across his skin with her fingers turned abruptly to scratches, however, as Harold nudged her leg aside with his own and pressed his hardness flush against her once again, making her cry out softly and shiver. Even though there was not yet any substantial pleasure to outweigh the pain, Marian was relieved to see that he did not seem distressed by her involuntary scratches at all. In fact, judging by the harsh groan that escaped him and the way that the pressure of his lips on her skin suddenly intensified, he seemed to have enjoyed it in some way. Perhaps, she thought, it was not so different from the way that she reveled in his fierce love-bites, was even excited by the idea that she'd undoubtedly have bruises underneath her high collar when all was said and done.

It was all a little raw, a little rough, and – though she didn't know if maybe this made her somehow peculiar – she actually _wanted_ him to be a bit rough with her, and she relished every single indication that he couldn't bear to wait a single second longer, that he needed her body now as much as she needed his. Ever since they'd resumed making love after the birth of their child, their amorous activity had been exclusively slow and gentle. This had been for a very good reason initially – the first time they'd attempted it, she'd feared that it might bring back some of the pain inflicted by childbirth just to have him touch her intimately, though this thankfully proved to be untrue – and even after that first time, the utter exhaustion of new parenthood kept them rather mild in their desires.

Marian hadn't realized it concretely until today, but she'd _missed_ this, the whole reckless, daring tone of it. She missed him making love to her with right-here-right-now urgency, missed him fumbling for her buttons like he couldn't get her naked quickly enough, kissing her neck until she bruised, tumbling down with her in a tangle of arms and legs… really, it was no wonder she felt so excited at the prospect of making love with her husband on the spur of the moment in a place that they'd both perceived as forbidden.

How the next part happened, she wasn't certain – whether she'd done it herself or if he'd placed her there or maybe just helped her up – but she ended up sitting atop her desk with Harold standing in front of her. As he expertly unbuttoned her blouse, the music professor leaned in to place a few gentle kisses on the swell of her breasts above her corset, making her giggle and squirm. Though he couldn't yet touch her there in the way that they both truly wanted, she noted with pride that he could never resist paying _some_ degree of attention to that adored part of her anatomy – Marian had the rather absurd suspicion that as soon as it was possible once again, he might just kiss her breasts for hours to make up for lost time.

She tugged him even closer to her by his belt buckle, and she gazed into his eyes with a brazen, confident smile as she worked the buckle free and then opened button after button with well-practiced ease. She wasn't doing anything new or exciting, yet Harold stared at her with stunned, pleased incredulity, presumably still a little shocked that she was so certain about doing this _here_. The more awed he looked, the more brilliant her own smile grew.

"I'd ask if you're feeling excited, dear, but I think I already have my answer," she teased, stroking a finger up and down the front of his trousers.

Though he groaned softly at her touch, he was obviously not willing to concede the upper hand to her just yet. "Then I suppose," he countered with a deliciously lopsided smile, "I'll be seeking a similar answer from you." As he began to slowly inch his hands up her skirt - his caressing fingers starting all the way down at her calves – the librarian delighted in this confirmation that teasing and challenging him during their lovemaking always yielded the most delectable results.

Opening his trousers at last, Marian immediately wrapped her fingers around him, thrilled by both the feel of him in her hand and the involuntary little hiss of air he took in through his teeth at the sudden rush of sensation. That thrill still surprised her a little – she was certainly used to his robust carnal appetites by now, but not so much to the fact that she equaled him in passion, even though it had taken her much, much longer to discover it. Before they'd been married, she couldn't comprehend how anyone could desire or enjoy those seemingly one-sided acts she'd seen vaguely mentioned in some of her more scandalous books, acts that clearly only brought physical pleasure to one's spouse, but she hadn't realized then just how doing those sorts of things would make her feel – to use a phrase Harold was fond of, how hot for him it could make her – and how intimate it could be just to watch him react. Now she took a certain pride in the fact that she knew exactly where and how he craved her touch the most, and that she could make the man she loved feel so wonderful through her actions alone – and, frankly, she'd found that there were few things more erotic than eliciting a pleading moan or a cry of ecstasy from her usually in-control husband.

Today, Marian let her fingers explore him with unusual delicacy, knowing that the feather-light touches would drive him mad. Just as she'd expected, he gasped and thrust his hips harder against her hand, wordlessly pleading for more. It excited her to anticipate the even more intense reactions she knew she would get if she used her mouth instead of just her hands, but before she even got the chance to consider how she could situate herself in such a position, Harold's hand had somehow worked its way inside her drawers, skillfully stroking along the soft folds that were already wet for him, and she wasn't willing to give any resistance to _that._

As his thumb continued to trace her most sensitive area, he allowed one, then two of his fingers to slip inside her, and when she let out a high-pitched wail at the electrifying sensations and pressed her hips back against his hand, the librarian was struck by the sound of her own voice ringing throughout the empty room.

She heard him chuckle softly into her ear – felt it, too, the vibrations of his deep voice tickling her skin – and she pulled back and raised her eyebrows questioningly, waiting for an explanation. The whole pretense was rather ridiculous, considering that she was still stroking him, but she deemed the feeling of power she derived from that act rather fitting, anyway.

"What is _funny_ about any of this, Professor?" Marian asked in a mock-scolding tone.

He laughed again, though she noted with satisfaction that there was unmistakably a gasp mingled in with his mirth. "Just that it strikes me as ironic that we have to be a bit quiet these days at home – but we can be as loud as we want _here_. In the _library_."

At that, she had to giggle as well. "I suppose you've always longed for that chance, haven't you?"

Never stopping the tantalizing motions of his fingers, Harold leaned in close, brown eyes smoldering and all trace of laughter gone from his low, smooth voice. "I've imagined making you moan loud enough to fill up this entire library since – since the first time I saw you behind that desk."

Marian shivered all over as she recalled the first time he'd walked in the library door, imagining those flagrantly carnal thoughts simmering just behind his thin veneer of gentlemanliness. Though she had certainly never relished the reality that he'd originally seen her as a potential conquest, there was something so powerfully alluring about the idea that he'd seen her as a woman capable of desire and pleasure months and months before she'd realized that in herself. And, of course, Harold had continued to see her in that way even after he'd come to love and respect her, even after he knew that she'd never experienced so much as a kiss before… he'd not only brought out the sensual side of her, but he had _always_ known that she had one to bring out, and that thought continued to leave her breathless.

She let her head fall back and unabashedly gave free rein to all of the throaty, pleading cries that he drew out of her, her delight only increasing with the knowledge that this was such a long-held fantasy for Harold. She'd not been exaggerating when she'd confessed that she'd always wanted this, too – she'd dreamed about it even while they were still engaged and she couldn't even comprehend what it would be like to make love at all. It felt like it had always been inevitable that this would happen eventually, as shocking as the idea was. As wrong as it may have been, it felt _right_.

Running his free hand up her arching back until he settled it behind her neck, the music professor brought her lips back up to his and met them hungrily, every feverish motion of his lips and tongue against hers communicating sheer, primal need. Marian _ached_ for him now, so urgently that his fingers could no longer be nearly enough, and she was certain that he must be feeling much the same way. As they resumed their kisses, she moaned into his mouth and grasped almost desperately at his hips, tugging him closer to her, and he followed her lead, stepping between her legs and stroking his hands along the tender skin of her thighs, all the way up until she opened her legs even wider for him.

"Make love to me," she pleaded even as she guided him to press against her entrance – she said it largely because Harold had once divulged that she'd often begged him in this way whenever they'd made love in his premarital dreams, and it seemed only fitting that she should make this brazen request as a part of this fantasy come true. She knew her words had the desired effect when his hips surged forward and his fingers seized even more tightly around her thighs, his mouth letting out a soft, strangled moan which she knew well enough to interpret as a wholehearted "yes".

As he filled her at last, Marian buried her face in his chest with a ragged, whimpering gasp, and he groaned her name in a tone that was a glorious combination of reverence and lust. They wasted no time trying to tease each other or draw out the anticipation any longer, moving together at a vigorous pace that was exactly what she'd wanted so very badly these past months, bliss radiating through her body with every undulation of Harold's hips against hers.

The husky moans that came from somewhere deep in his throat drove her wild, and their movements only grew more and more frenzied as they both grew increasingly aroused by the other's obvious enjoyment. The librarian watched her husband in adoration as his face contorted in pleasure because of her, and she delighted in clenching her legs and moving her hips in just the right way to make him cry out uncontrollably.

(Ever since they'd first made love, it had fascinated and perplexed her that neither one of them could ever truly know exactly what the other was feeling, that their experiences of this shared and extremely intimate act must, in sensation, be very different – she'd never forget the first time he'd told her in an impassioned groan that she was " _so tight_ " and she'd actually _apologized_ , making him laugh in charmed disbelief even in the midst of their lovemaking. Still, she was happy that she could give him such pleasure even if she could never fully understand what it felt like for him, and vice versa.)

All the while, Marian was completely aware of where they were, never lost consciousness of the distinctive parchment-and-ink scent in the air or the fact that her skirt-clad bottom was sliding back and forth across the surface of her _desk_ , but she didn't feel the slightest pang of guilt or apprehension over this. In fact, the sheer wickedness of what they were doing, the utter incongruity of feeling her husband within her while she could look past him to see the familiar setting of her library, only increased the heady thrill of their lovemaking – which was really saying something, as even their most ordinary trysts were unfailingly blissful. Her eyelids fluttered and sometimes clamped shut entirely as her body reacted to each breathtaking spark of pleasure that Harold sent through her, but she did her very best to keep her eyes open whenever she could manage it, wanting to remember every detail, every single moment of what was happening.

As much as she would have loved to be naked with him, Marian was currently quite grateful that they were still almost entirely clothed, because without Harold's shirt to cling to, she didn't know what might have happened to her. In truth, as she knotted and twisted the fabric in her hands, she was slightly concerned that she might tear it – but only _very_ slightly, given that she was not presently thinking about much except how wonderfully perfect he felt and how badly she needed him not to stop, and she told him so, over and over, pleas of desperate need intermingled with tender words of love. Her husband responded in kind, his fevered murmurings both inflaming her lust and making her feel like the most beloved, beautiful woman in the world.

When ecstasy finally overwhelmed her, she made no attempt to stifle her cry of rapture, allowing herself for the first time in months to wail and shout with all the bliss that she felt, back arching, head falling back, and fingers clinging fiercely to his shirt. As he watched her, Harold followed her into release within moments, thrusting his hips erratically against hers with wordless exclamations until he let out a long, low groan of her name, and she could feel his whole body shaking with pleasure from head to toe until he had to plant his hands on the desk just to hold himself upright.

With a final, shuddering sigh, Marian nestled her head against his chest, still keeping her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she floated on a cloud of carefree elation. She felt beautifully, perfectly close to him in a way that she hadn't in a while – even though they weren't in bed, or even laying down, she thought she could stay comfortably like this for hours. Above all, she was glad that neither of them had let fleeting concerns about propriety prevent them from letting this opportunity unfold. What had happened here today had been important, _so_ important, in reaffirming that they could still be passionate lovers as well as devoted parents, and she hadn't realized how much she'd needed that reassurance until she'd gotten it.

When she could summon up the energy again, she pressed her chin to his chest and smiled dreamily up at him, knowing that she must have looked foolish with love and satisfaction.

Brimming with equal affection, Harold grinned back at her and tucked an errant honey-gold curl behind her ear. "What are you thinking about?" he asked – clearly trying to sound suave and self-possessed, though his voice was still rough and shaky in the aftermath of such intense pleasure.

"Thinking?" she teased with a laugh. "I'm happy, Harold, that's all."

That wasn't nearly enough to describe how she was feeling, but she wasn't at her most articulate mere minutes after making love, to say the least. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to gather her thoughts again – not the easiest task after how perfectly empty her mind had been in the very recent past. "Today was the first time in a long time – since before I had the baby, even – that you didn't touch me as if you were afraid you'd break me," she admitted as she gently brushed his hair back from his forehead. "I didn't want to lose that feeling, or that moment. That's why I decided that no matter where we were, I just wanted to be with you."

"I hadn't realized," he responded softly, stroking his hands down her back. "I think I had legitimate reasons for not wanting to hurt you, dear – "

"No, you _did_ , I know – "

"But I guess I never got used to the fact that you were – healed. That it could be like it was before, again."

The librarian beamed proudly at her husband. "Well, I think I've made that very clear to you now, haven't I?"

There was a surprising seriousness in his tone as he responded to her playful teasing, as though she'd somehow assured him of him something that he'd been aching to know for ages. "Absolutely, my love."

Pulling her close, he kissed her slowly and tenderly, one hand nested in her hair. Marian was certain that she could feel all of his love and gratitude for her communicated through that embrace, and she only hoped that she was able to properly express her adoration in return. She was a little disappointed that he didn't prolong the kiss, but it was probably for the best, considering that he was still inside her and they would certainly end up making love again if they didn't stop now – which was a wonderful idea, but one that they did _not_ have time to pursue, given how long they had already lingered here.

Still, the librarian watched him a little wistfully as they went about the re-buttoning and tying and fastening of their clothing and the general eradication of all evidence that pointed to their scandalous coupling (at least other than their flushed complexions and secret-keeping smiles). Today, she felt almost as if she'd discovered her passion for him anew; she could have spent the rest of the day and night making love to him and it wouldn't have been enough.

Harold seemed to notice her distracted demeanor, and he must have been feeling a similar sense of longing, because, as she stood by the door and finished placing her hat atop her head, he walked over and took her hand in his own, bringing it to his mouth to bestow gentle kisses upon her fingers.

He paused after a few kisses and looked right into her eyes, a hint of mischief in his expression. "So… do we still have our date for tonight, then?"

Marian almost embarrassed herself by inquiring about said "date" before she realized what he meant and blushed pleasantly at the thought. "Why, of course, Professor. I'll be looking forward to it." For good measure, she gave him an impish wink.

As she turned to take hold of the door handle, however, he stopped her one more time, his hand on her shoulder. "So will I," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "I've already made a few plans for us, in fact – there are certain things that wouldn't have been so easy to do in a place like this without a bed. This afternoon was just the beginning, dear."

Then, purposely denying her a chance to react beyond a momentary gasp, he abruptly swung the heavy door open and took her arm, and they were walking out into the warm spring evening together, looking to all the world like a perfectly respectable husband and wife who had certainly _not_ just used the Madison Public Library for purposes of marital intimacy. And, as self-conscious as she might have felt, Marian knew that no one could perceive the way that her head was spinning with that exact memory as well as with thoughts of all the heated delights that she and Harold were planning to engage in later tonight. She even managed to greet a couple of acquaintances on the sidewalk without blushing noticeably, as far as she could tell.

Marian had gotten remarkably good at keeping secrets – and with good reason, because before meeting and marrying Harold, she'd never truly realized just how enjoyable secrets could be.


	2. Epilogue: Renewal

Laying in their large, comfortable bed after emerging from his bath that night, Harold contentedly waited for Marian to finish checking on their slumbering daughter and join him for the "date" that they'd awaited for so many hours. He'd grabbed a book out of the study in order to give himself some semblance of purpose, but he was barely even looking at the words, his heart racing in anticipation. In fact, he wasn't even entirely sure what book he was holding. The author and characters all had long Russian names, and that was all that he'd really picked up on. (He supposed he'd have to read it eventually, once Marian noticed it on his nightstand and wanted to discuss it with him, but literary discourse was absolutely nowhere on his list of plans for tonight.)

The sound of his darling's soft footsteps at the door pulled the music professor out of any pretense of being otherwise occupied. He immediately laid the book aside – face-down, so it wouldn't draw attention to whatever its title was – and grinned as Marian slipped into the room, closing the door behind her, and strode confidently toward the bed. He hoped his eagerness didn't come across _too_ embarrassingly.

"I take it everything went well with Charlotte?"

"Still fast asleep," she reported with barely-concealed glee as she eagerly climbed up to join him.

"And you've arrived right on time for our date, Miss Marian." He wasted no time gathering his lovely wife into his arms and kissing her thoroughly, although he didn't want to push things ahead _too_ quickly – he wanted to savor every blissful moment of this night.

Just as he'd suspected they would be, Marian's cheeks were charmingly pink when he pulled away to watch her reaction. But her demeanor was certainly not one of maidenly coyness – before Harold had time to say or do anything else, her small hands were pushing him down until he was lying on his back, and she slithered up his body until they were just about nose to nose, where she stopped, arms folded upon his chest.

Harold hadn't been paying attention to much except her delightful enthusiasm and the sweetly seductive look she'd been giving him, but holding her in his arms made him realize how unusually soft and smooth the fabric her clothing was, and he glanced down the length of her body to see what she was wearing. Much as he'd expected, she'd donned some of her finest nightclothes tonight, and, as she sat up on her knees a little to kiss him, he tugged at the sash of her silken lavender robe and smiled to see a hint of the fancy, lacy nightdress he'd suspected she was wearing underneath.

"It's been a while since you dressed up for bed, sweetheart," he noted approvingly after their lips had parted again.

The librarian let out a light laugh, clearly pleased that her outfit had attracted his attention. "It has, but I'll have to make a point of doing it more often."

"I sure hope you will, after tonight," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "I just hope this date can live up to the precedent we set earlier."

She nuzzled her golden head against his neck with a pleased sigh. "Today was positively perfect, wasn't it?"

Harold grinned shamelessly at her, tilting her gorgeous face up with a finger under her chin. "Making love to the beautiful, naughty librarian in her own library is the sort of thing all men dream about."

"Not _all_ men, I hope," Marian exclaimed, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust.

The music professor threw his hands up in front of him as he hastily tried to rephrase his assertion. "I don't mean specifically about _you_. And I don't mean in detail. Well, _I_ dreamed it specifically about you, of course. And in detail. And I should stop talking, shouldn't I?"

She giggled and shook her head, which he could feel more than see because she had just pressed the tip of her nose to his. "Mmm, no. I like hearing what you dreamed about me."

"I never thought it would happen, not really," Harold exclaimed, reliving the rush of that I can't imagine that I would have ever had the nerve to make it happen – it was a wonderful fantasy, but I thought I might seem more than a little crass to try and seduce you there. But _you_ , you fiery little vixen, you suggested it!"

It unnerved him to see that her manner became a little diffident at that, and he wondered if he'd been too impertinent about what must have still been a delicate subject for her. Though she was still smiling slightly, she sat up into a less seductive posture and awkwardly averted her eyes.

"I still can't believe that I really did that," she murmured, almost to herself at first. "I think I was nearly as surprised as you that those words came out of my mouth! But – " Marian looked him right in the eyes now " – one can do surprising things when one believes those things to be truly necessary. What was more important to me than worrying about propriety or anything else was to have _you_ back... the passionate you, the you that can't get enough of me. I was wondering when I'd see him again."

The sudden, plaintive words sent him reeling. He knew now that Marian had been dissatisfied with their relative lack of intimacy in recent months, and he understood that very well, but until this moment, he hadn't considered the possibility that she might have been _hurt_ by it – a terrible irony, when all he'd wanted was to avoid hurting her.

"Well, he's back to stay now," Harold responded with earnest conviction, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'm so sorry if I worried you, but I didn't treat you differently on purpose, Marian. Or at least, I didn't know that I should or could have treated you any other way."

His dear little librarian nodded sympathetically, laying down to embrace him again. "I know you didn't. And it _wasn't_ all your fault. We never talked about it, and I realize now that we should have. You know that I still prefer… _these things_ to just happen, as opposed to talking about them. I just thought that you'd realize yourself, eventually, that you didn't have to be so _cautious_ with me anymore. And I think you began to realize it today, as soon as we started kissing in the library, but if we hadn't, um, gone through with things, I didn't know when I'd get another chance to show you that _that_ was what I wanted." She exhaled heavily, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"I do. I wanted this back, too, very much. I just didn't know if it would ever happen."

"You really thought we might never have this again?" she asked softly.

There was something that made him profoundly uncomfortable about confessing his doubts to his wife instead of the other way around – he felt like it was his duty to comfort _her_ , and that it was wrong to pile any extra worry on her shoulders. But Marian was intelligent and principled and she loved him more than anything, he reminded himself, and she _wanted_ to know what had so troubled them all these months. Holding back wouldn't do any good. If what he'd learned today was any indication, it had never done them any good before.

He wrapped his arms around her, thinking that it would act as a steadying influence to hold his beloved as close as possible. "I had prepared myself for the idea, yes. And I would have been absolutely fine with it, Marian. We could still make love, even if it wasn't quite the same – and even if we couldn't have made love _ever_ again, I would have learned to be fine with that, too. Being with you and making you happy is all that matters to me. I'd give up anything for that."

Marian still seemed thoroughly puzzled, and he couldn't fault her for it. "But, darling, why did you think that would happen? Why did you think that things might have changed so drastically? I certainly never said anything to that effect."

He pressed his lips together, uncertain of how to answer her. "I knew I hurt you a little bit, the first time we tried again," he told her at last. "I don't think you need to be told that I wasn't sure how to handle that. I didn't know if there were other ways in which I might cause you pain if I wasn't careful, so I thought it would be best to continue making love to you in the same manner consistently, just so I wouldn't hurt you again."

"You make it sound like that pain was something truly terrible. But you knew it was still wonderful for me, after that part was over," she insisted, her fingers gently stroking his cheek. "Why, it hurt me a little the first time we made love _ever_ , and _that_ still turned out to be wonderful… and you didn't keep yourself from being truly passionate with me afterward because of that little pain, of course!"

"Well, our very first time, I knew where the pain was coming from. I knew it wasn't permanent. And what was going through my mind in these past couple months was more complicated than you think – it wasn't only the fear of hurting you physically that made me so wary. I wanted to respect your space and your feelings, and I assumed that you wouldn't want to make love while you were under such stress." He sighed, distraught at how completely he had misjudged the situation for far too long. "It's certainly not that I didn't desire it. I just couldn't bring myself to do _anything_ that might upset you in the name of my own desire. As much as I try to do for you and for Charlotte, I know that everything has been harder on you. You're the one who carried her, who gave birth to her, who has to nurse her now while I can stay in bed and sleep. So I thought that if _I_ felt tired, despite not having to do any of those things, then you must have been experiencing a level of exhaustion that I couldn't even imagine, and I had no right to ask any more of you. Even if I knew deep down that I wouldn't hurt you – I was afraid that if I tried to make love to you too often, at some point you'd do it because you felt you _had_ to, and I couldn't bear that."

"I've never done that," she said, hazel eyes widening in dismay.

Harold grimaced. "You haven't, but would you have, to appease me if I'd bothered you too much?"

She shook her head almost forcefully, blonde curls tumbling everywhere. "I can't imagine thinking of your wanting to be intimate with me as a _bother_. We don't have that awful, adversarial sort of marriage! It's true that there are nights these days when I would be far too exhausted to make love, and I know you've had the same feeling, but I'll always be honest with you. I'll tell you how I'm feeling, not just lie to you and pretend to want it! I couldn't imagine doing that. We would both be hurt from that sort of deception, and it would have made our lovemaking into something truly unpleasant. And, even when there are times when we're too tired and busy to act like a couple on their honeymoon, there's nothing that could make me just give _this_ up," she said, gesturing between the two of them.

Then, softly, without meeting his eyes: "I can't believe you thought that _I_ wouldn't want _you_."

At first he thought she was taking one of her usual playful jabs at his smugness, but then he realized precisely where she'd laid her emphasis, and his heart constricted.

"You thought I didn't want you anymore." He didn't phrase it as a question, just let it hang in the air between them, waiting for her confirmation.

She shrugged, her shoulders slumping listlessly. "It surprised me, quite frankly, that you continued to want me all throughout my pregnancy. I knew I didn't look the way a man would like a woman to look… but at least when I was actually pregnant, I had an excuse of sorts – _afterward_ , you had plenty of reason to assume I was unattractive…"

Harold would have sat bolt upright in protest if his wife had not been sprawled along the length of his body. Instead, he hugged her tightly against him with one arm while he cupped her cheek with the other, _needing_ her to look at him as he spoke. "Marian, I have _never_ been more attracted to a woman than I am to you. I mean that _all_ of the time, no matter what you're wearing or whether you've brushed your hair or, well, how pregnant you are. Everything about you is bewitching to me, even the littlest things that you might not think I pay attention to – your eyelashes, your nose, your voice, all of you."

She smiled sweetly and relaxed in his arms a little, a little distracted from her self-reproach as she considered each his features with that delightfully dreamy expression of hers. "I find your voice exceptionally attractive as well. Oh, and this little curl here – " she twirled the lock of hair that hung obstinately over his forehead whenever he didn't take extraordinary measures to tame it " – and the way that your smile is just a little crooked on one side… and even more so when you're really, truly happy."

"Then why can't you believe that I feel the same way about you?" The slightest hint of desperation crept into his tone.

With another little shrug of her shoulders, the librarian sighed. "I believe you _now_ , but for a while, it seemed plausible that I might not be the most desirable sight you've ever seen, to put it mildly. And after you'd been denied the opportunity to make love to me at all for a few months, I thought I must have been a disappointment when you finally got that long-awaited chance again." Marian's purposely neutral expression grew a little strained, although she did not move out of his embrace, and in their close proximity Harold could feel that her heart was beginning to pound. "Oh, I know that you love me, but I had to think realistically – a man like you _has_ to have certain expectations for what he finds attractive in a woman."

It had been so long since she'd expressed any insecurity over his past, and her words struck him as surprisingly painful. As the former con man looked at the woman who he'd chosen to build his entire world around gazing at him with heartbreaking vulnerability, he was unable to comprehend what she could think would ever make her less than perfect in his eyes. Taking a deep breath and a moment to consider how to reassure her, he resolved to answer her as honestly and completely as he could – he'd just have to spill out all of the deep sentiments of his love that he might have considered too dramatic to express all at once, if his wife hadn't needed reminding of them so very badly. If that wasn't enough to convince her of his unconditional devotion, then he didn't know what else he could possibly say, but he hoped he could rely on his skill with words to serve him well. Entwining his fingers tightly with hers and making sure that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, Harold began with the first idea that came to his mind.

"You're right, I do. Very specific expectations, in fact." Despite himself, a little smile curved his lips at his own cleverness. "For instance, she has to be a smart little blonde Irish librarian from Iowa with a sharp tongue and a soft heart, who enjoys poetry, playing piano and cutting my ego down to size, who showed me that there were better things to live for than conning people out of their money, who made me the father of the world's most precious little girl, who's given me a whole future to look forward to. Any woman who isn't her won't even turn my head." Now his voice shook a little with the intensity of his emotion, and he had to swallow hard before he could keep going. "I nearly went mad in those months where I couldn't make love to you, Marian. In some ways, it was even harder than waiting during our courtship, because I love you even _more_ now, now that we've lived through so much more together and known each other so intimately. You are the most wonderful woman I could possibly imagine, and when I look at you, I don't just see how beautiful you are on the outside – and that is _astonishingly_ beautiful, dear, don't you ever think otherwise – but I see all of those other things, too. I see my reason for living. You are everything to me, you and our child."

By the time he finished, his wife's face was aglow with amazement and adoration, but her large eyes were shining with tears as well. He felt her start to tremble in his arms, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she struggled not to cry, and he gathered her to his chest and held her close, his heart aching with how badly he needed her to believe him. He didn't push her to answer, though, just caressed her back with gentle strokes of his hands and gave her all the time she needed.

At last, Marian spoke, with an involuntary little squeak that she seemed embarrassed of – Harold, of course, found it achingly adorable. "I love you so much," she exclaimed with tears in her eyes, clinging almost desperately to him. "I don't deserve you, really. Here you say all of these beautiful things about me and I can't even find the words to respond, even though you're everything to me as well and I don't say that nearly enough…"

He stopped her with a finger on her lips, then changed his mind and gave her a light kiss instead, feeling her grow calmer in his arms as he embraced her with all the emotion that was too profound to express with words. When he drew back, she was smiling tremulously, and Harold wiped the tears from her face as he gently teased her. "Oh, Madam Librarian, don't start the argument of who deserves the other less. I'll always win."

At that, Marian abruptly broke down in a fit of helpless giggles, and though he didn't think he'd said anything all that funny, Harold soon joined her in laughter, so relieved to see that she was happy and that he hadn't turned their "date" into an irreversibly serious occasion.

This time, when she looked up at him with tear-wet eyes, the tears were only from merriment. "Yes, I'll have to remember to stop starting that argument – it gets rather tiresome, doesn't it? And I agree that you might tend to have the upper hand there, if you're going by who's committed more crimes, I suppose," she conceded. Then her smile turned impish as she drummed her fingers against his chest, pretending to be deep in thought. "Not that I've committed absolutely _none_ , seeing as you've alerted me to the fact that practically everything a husband and wife can do in the bedroom is illegal according to somebody. Come to think of it, what we did today was most likely illegal..."

Harold couldn't keep from grinning, endlessly amused by how untroubled his virtuous wife appeared by all of that. "And do you mind?"

"No," she admitted. "I suppose that's wrong of me, isn't it?"

He shrugged and wrapped his arms around her waist. "The right kind of wrong."

The librarian narrowed her eyes, giving him a teasing little swat on his shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"It's the kind of wrong that I _like_ you to be," answered Harold.

Leaning up on her elbows, Marian rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I'm still not sure what that means, but I'm happy that you approve."

"I approve of anything that makes you feel happy and unashamed and free of regrets. And," he added archly, "I approve of anything that makes you unashamed to make passionate love to me in semi-public places."

She laughed, leaning closer again so she was almost entirely stretched out atop of him. " _Now_ I understand. Anything else you want to express your approval for, Professor Hill?"

For a moment Harold felt a little awkward, uncertain of what to say or do – his instincts told him that this situation could easily be steered into its original amorous direction from here, yet he wasn't sure if that wouldn't offend her after they had just shared such an poignant moment. Perhaps Marian would view his carnal desires as crass in her current state, and she'd think that he'd said all of those heartfelt words merely to seduce her…

But wasn't that the same trap he'd been falling into for months? To just assume that she must not want him and hold back for that reason seemed to run contrary to all the things that she'd just told him – that she'd wanted so badly to feel desired, that she wouldn't ever view his advances as a bother or obligation, that she'd be honest and tell him if she wasn't in the mood. And he needed to be honest as well.

"I approve of your outfit," he said finally, sliding her lavender peignoir easily off her body so he could focus his attention on the alluring silvery gown that clung, gossamer-like, to her curves. "I believe I bought you this on our honeymoon, didn't I?"

"Indeed," Marian confirmed, subtly pressing even closer to him, letting her bare legs intertwine with his. "I believe you bought me no shortage of clothing designed to slip right off me that week."

Harold made a mental note to buy her a new nightgown or two soon – it had been a long while since he'd done so, due to her pregnancy. "A woman like you was made to wear those kinds of things, and then to have them removed as quickly as possible."

"But only by you, of course," she pointed out.

"Naturally." As he slipped his hands under the hemline of the silken nightdress, he almost immediately discovered nothing but bare, smooth skin; as his hands found the luscious curve of her bare backside, he was hard within seconds, and he knew that she felt it. "Nothing under here?" he inquired.

Marian laughed, her voice low and throaty in the way it only was when she was feeling especially amorous. "We already made love with all of our clothes on today. I saw no reason to impose any further obstacles between us." She slid a tantalizing hand down his bare chest until she reached the sash of his robe, which she wasted no time in untying. "Apparently, you had a similar idea."

Then they could find no more use for bantering or teasing for the next several minutes as they finally slipped out of the last vestiges of their nightclothes and were free to explore one another.

Her body, sweet and bare against his – it hadn't actually been months since he'd felt it, but it might as well have been because it had been so long since they'd writhed together with such unrestrained passion. Her soft and perfect breasts pressed temptingly against his chest, and he so wanted to take each one in his mouth and watch her cry out and arch her back in heightened arousal – it was wildly frustrating to still be forbidden from touching her there, though he knew this restriction wouldn't last forever. So, he redirected that desire in the same way that he did earlier that day, by burying his face in her neck and bringing his hands further down to cup her bottom. He was probably going to have to rethink the first part of that solution before long, seeing as low necklines were coming into season again, but for now, it thrilled him to mark her with the love-bites that her skin had lacked for a long while.

They kissed until they could barely breathe, his tongue exploring her mouth and her neck, her little gasps and whimpers of sheer desire falling on his ears like music. Harold wanted to hear more of those sounds every bit as much as he wanted to experience the pleasure that she could give to him, and he slipped his hand between her legs with the express purpose of transforming her soft mewls to full-voiced moans.

He achieved this quite easily, and he might have been content doing nothing more than making her arch above him and gasp his name like that forever, but the insistent throb of his erection was not exactly turning him into a paragon of patience. He intended to spend all night giving Marian every form of pleasure he could think of, and he looked forward to what she could give him in return, but right now, he desperately needed to make love to her. Thankfully for his current plans, the sort of moans she would make during _that_ activity were perhaps the most exquisite of them all.

Harold stared breathlessly up at his wife, who looked to him like no less than a goddess with her alabaster skin and golden hair bathed in lamplight, crimson lips swollen from his kisses. As she was already naked and straddling his hips, hands splayed across his stomach, there was no doubt whatsoever of what she wanted from him, yet he was so overcome by her beauty and her nearness and how many months he'd needlessly held back his passion that he found himself bluntly stating the obvious.

"I want you _so_ badly, Marian."

"I do, too," she breathed – then gave him a playful smile. "Today could only hold us over for so long, I guess."

He grinned unsteadily in response, slipping his fingers around her waist. "It's just a shame that there aren't more hours in the night."

"For what purpose?" She was feigning wide-eyed innocence, pretending to be utterly baffled, despite the fact that she was trailing a hand down his naked abdomen at that exact moment… it drove him wild.

"I don't know if a few months worth of unfulfilled desires can be properly explored all in one night, even by a man and woman as talented in that department as we are… but there's no harm in trying. We could get a head start, at least."

"Then we'd better stop talking so much," Marian teased with a glowing, mischievous smile. "And I can promise you, no matter what you have in mind… I won't break."

Harold was grateful for that, because he strongly suspected that whatever they were about to do was not going to be slow and cautious. Even as his wife took him confidently in hand and positioned him to enter her, he was already overwhelmed with the urgent need to thrust his hips vigorously upward into her, to grasp _her_ hips tightly and hold her against him while she sobbed out his name in ecstasy, to make furious, passionate love to his her until they were both gasping from exhaustion – an exhaustion that would prove thankfully temporary so that they could make love again and again until they had finally expressed all of the intimate desires that they'd been keeping secret, and they'd finally fall asleep in each other's arms as a husband and wife fully united in passion and understanding once more.

Then the music professor was brought right back into the present moment when Marian sank down onto him with a luscious moan, the feel of her exquisitely tight, wet heat enveloping him making him cry out as well – and Harold thought, just as he had the first time he'd made love to his dear little librarian and every single time since, that he was the luckiest man who'd ever lived.

He didn't do a lot of thinking after that.


End file.
